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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170285">Defense</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABigRock/pseuds/ABigRock'>ABigRock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hey Arnold!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:28:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABigRock/pseuds/ABigRock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A WIP slice-of-life story featuring Helga and Arnold shortly after they've started officially dating. Takes place post-movie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Helga Pataki/Arnold Shortman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Defense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey, Arnold, is it true you're really dating Helga Pataki?" Stinky asks, drawing out the name and letting it slide between his lips like something rotten.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Yeah, Stinky," Arnold answers calmly, tucking his Geography book under his arm and shutting his locker. "I really am."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Well, what in the heck are you doin' that for? You lost your dang mind or somethin’?"<br/>
</p>
<p>"What do you mean? Helga's really nice once you get to know her."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Well, without bein' too harsh, I honestly can't imagine what anyone could see in that girl."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Weren't you in love with her last year?" Arnold asks with a little smile.<br/>
</p>
<p>"That was just a passin' fancy, and unlike you, I came to my senses."<br/>
</p>
<p>“Hey, Aaaarnoooold," Harold cooes, sidling up with Sid at his side. "Are you and Helga gonna go on a big date together and hold hands?"<br/>
</p>
<p>"I don't know. Probably." Unphased, cool as a cucumber. He learned years ago that any reaction other than placidity is just foder.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What does her eyebrow feel like when you kiss her?" Sid asks, grinning.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Yeah, is it like puttin' your face against a big hairy caterpillar?" Stinky laughs.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Arnold and Helga, sitting in a tree," Harold croons, lips pursed, but he cuts off just as abruptly as if someone slapped him. Arnold turns in time to catch a flash of pink to his left, hear the furious, feline growl.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Helga, wait," he interjects just as she cocks her fist, preparing to strike Harold in his pinched, quivering face.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What, Football Head? You think I'm just gonna let him talk about us--about me like that?" she backtracks quickly.<br/>
</p>
<p>"It's not a big deal. Just let it go. Come on, we're gonna be late for class."<br/>
</p>
<p>He holds out his hand, and despite her clear desire to go ahead with the pummeling, she disarms herself and takes it. Allows him to lead her away. She does manage, though, to sneak in one last murderous glare over her shoulder.<br/>
</p>
<p>The boys follow behind a moment later, shuffling slowly, utterly bewildered, and their impish fun thoroughly deflated.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Y'know, Sid," Stinky finally says as the bell begins to ring. "I think that there's gotta be the weirdest couple I ever did see."<br/>
</p>
<p>"You're so right," Sid agrees.<br/>
</p>
<p>Harold, frowning, swipes his nose against the back of his arm and says nothing.</p>
<p> * * *<br/>

</p><p>Helga stalks into the lunchroom alone, late and glowering. Mr. Simmons made her stay after the bell to talk to her yet again about her slipping grades. Helga offered venomous excuses and stomped out before he could start asking hushed questions about her parents; her home life; whether she felt “safe.” Helga laughs bitterly to herself. She doesn’t feel safe anywhere, so what does it matter if her house is a minefield? Thinking of Mr. Simmons and those questions-- always whispered like he’s saying something dirty or shameful-- makes her feel ugly and slippery inside. She seeks Phoebe out by habit and is horrified to discover that her friend hasn't waited obediently for her to arrive. Instead, she's joined a table-- a table that is conspicuously full now-- with some of the girls from her origami club. Phoebe, perhaps sensing Helga's murderous stare, makes eye contact and shrinks in her seat. She mouths the word "sorry." Helga gives her an appropriately dark look and gets in line. Everything behind the head-height yellow plastic shield looks good, and she tries to wheedle an extra scoop of what looks like beans and weenies from the unsmiling, mustached lunch lady, who is utterly unsympathetic and sends her down the line with the standard portion. Wearing a mask of casual boredom, Helga scans the room as if there are plenty of choices she could make. Every seat is full. Her heart is beating hard and a cold, acrid sweat is popping up under her arms. Toward the back corner, Harold has spotted her. He gives her a simpering little smile and whispers something in Sid's ear. Sid begins to laugh. She growls at him and raises a fist. The steady thud-thud-thud in her chest starts to fill her ears, dampening everything else. She's about ready to fall back to her emergency plan (eating in the empty gym) when she notices a hand waving in the center of the room. Arnold smiles at her, and it's as if someone has poured lovely, cool water onto her. He bends forward to show the empty seat beside him she hadn’t been able to see earlier. In a dopey haze, Helga slips between the tables and is nearly there when her foot smacks up against something hard. She lets out a surprised little "ah!" and then she is falling, her tray flying up and sending its contents into the air, miniature edible fireworks of peas and corn, sticky beans and weenies drowned in barbecue sauce. Shocked faces gape at her and improbably, a gap in the sea of heads allows her to get a perfect glimpse of a horrified Phoebe, her fingertips hovering near her mouth. All of this happens in less than a second. Then she hits the floor hard, taking the brunt of the impact on her belly and chin. Her vision explodes with little dancing lights, and it takes a moment for her senses to come back. Then she's assaulted with the sound of laughter, raucous and bright like the chatter of crows. Wolfgang draws his foot back and the goons at his table hoot, drum their fists, elbow each other.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Oops," Wolfgang says, grinning ear to ear. "Sorry."<br/>
</p>
<p>Helga gets to her feet, fully prepared to go toe-to-toe with him-- he is more than twice her size and she will lose, but her willingness to try anyway will earn her clout-- but once again, her good side arrives to halt the fight. Wolfgang sneers at Arnold, who helps Helga to her feet, but Arnold just stares back sadly, as if Wolfgang has done something to embarrass himself rather than his victim.<br/>
</p>
<p>“What’s that face for, huh?” Wolfgang taunts. “You gonna stick up for your little girlfriend?” He gets to his feet, looming over both of them, arms bulging, straining the sleeves of his green shirt.<br/>
</p>
<p>"No. I’m not gonna fight you.” Arnold shakes his head, sighs. “Why would you do something like that to someone? Let alone a girl who's younger than you. It kinda seems like something a really mean, cowardly person would do."<br/>
</p>
<p>His rebuke is shocking, far more mature than his age would suggest, and it works for a moment. Wolfgang and his peanut gallery gape, blink at each other. But the spell is easily broken when one of Wolfgang's goons takes a huge breath and blows an incredibly realistic fart into the crook of his elbow.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What even was that?" Wolfgang says to Arnold, belly-laughing. "What are you, some kinda thesaurus?"<br/>
</p>
<p>The insult is meaningless but the tone is what cuts her. He repeats parts of Arnold's incredibly thoughtful sentiment in a mocking falsetto to the delight of his table. Helga feels faint, feverish with rage and hurt, aching all over as if a bruise somewhere in her has been punched. It hurts more than her chin, which throbs steadily, and she chokes back tears. Arnold shakes his head, seemingly unaffected, and turns his attention fully to her. She’s dazzled. The ache fades.<br/>
</p>
<p>"You can just have half of mine, if you want," Arnold offers. "I don’t really even eat my lunch half the time. Come on, I saved you a seat."<br/>
</p>
<p>"No offense, Arnoldo, but half isn't gonna cut it," she says, swiping at her eyes angrily, descending back into old habits with the ease of an addict. "I'd rather just go get another one."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Sure. I'll come with you."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Whatever."<br/>
</p>
<p>She hopes the lunch lady won't recognize her, but the old hag frowns deeply when it’s her turn and Helga knows she's been made.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What did I tell you? No seconds," the woman snaps. Her teeth are ugly, just like Helga's. She must not brush her teeth much either. It makes Helga angry that she can recognize this similarity between them, this common uniting feature, and this woman, an adult, is seemingly blind to it. Or maybe she just ignores it, like everyone else does. Helga isn’t sure which is the better of the two. Now, like always, Helga shrinks inside and becomes invisible so that when she replies in a catty snark that the lunch lady must be blind if she didn't see what just happened back there, she barely even feels the sting of the barbed words leaving her mouth.<br/>
</p>
<p>"You get one lunch a day. That's the rule."<br/>
</p>
<p>"You're kidding me. I can see right there you have half a tray left."<br/>
</p>
<p>"It's one a day, now get out of line and go sit down."<br/>
</p>
<p>"Ma'am, if it's okay, can she just have my lunch for tomorrow?" Arnold interjects gently.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What?" the woman snaps, but already her expression is softening. Arnold radiates a softness that makes people want to like him and make him happy. It’s not something he does on purpose, and it’s just as mysterious to Helga as magic.<br/>
</p>
<p>"I was gonna bring leftovers tomorrow anyway, so I won’t need it. It's taco night tonight and Grandma always makes way too much."<br/>
</p>
<p>The kid behind Arnold sighs very loudly, and the lunch lady rolls her eyes and gives in, sensing the growing tension in the line, which has been held up for almost a minute now.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Fine," she barks, and slaps a spoonful of beans and weenies onto Helga's tray with enough force to splatter both them and the counter.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Thanks," Helga spits, all thorns on the outside, inside turning to mush, basking in the warmth of being someone Arnold deems worthy of defending.<br/>
</p>
<p>"You want a side too?" the lunch lady asks nastily.<br/>
</p>
<p>"Yeah, I do. Corn and peas."<br/>
</p>
<p>They're deposited onto her tray. Most of them bounce right out of the little plastic divot and onto the floor. Helga tramples them, leaving a slippery mess behind. Arnold says nothing during this, just follows her patiently while she grabs a chocolate milk from the ice bin and storms back to their table. She can't bring herself to guess what he might be thinking. It's all she can do to keep from screaming and tearing herself to pieces. The joy of his company is fragile, and the ugliness in her is always ready to spring out like a jack-in-the-box, set free at the slightest touch, overwound and jittering in the dark.</p>
<p>The way Helga eats makes Arnold wonder if she’s having breakfast before she comes to school. A few times before they started going out-- it still feels funny to say, and he gets a little tickle in his stomach when he refers to her as his girlfriend-- he'd accidentally caught her stealing out of backpacks left in the gym lockers, which are stationed outside the boys' and girls' locker rooms. He'd ducked quickly back into the boys' locker and peeked out just enough to watch her rummage frantically through the various bags, glancing nervously this way and that. She was indiscriminate about what she took; anything was game. Although, she was careful never to take too much from any one person. He figured this was to keep her undetected for as long as possible. She glances up at him now and he realizes he's been staring at her. He turns to his own food with much less gusto.<br/>
</p>
<p>"What?" she asks about his slow pace. "You don't like it?"<br/>
</p>
<p>"Not really," he says. Helga has already cleaned her tray and is eyeing his. "Do you want the rest?"<br/>
</p>
<p>She shrugs. "I guess. No point in letting it go to waste."<br/>
</p>
<p>She polishes it off quickly, and then, in a rare display of genuine good nature, smiles at him and says, "Thanks, Football Head. Hate to be you in an hour, but hey, I owe you one."</p>
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